


Escape

by Cadence7



Series: Hail the King of Death [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (most of the gore is blood), Angst, Blood, Death, Death of a loved one, Dissociation, Gore, Mild Gore, death of MANY loved ones, death of a child, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadence7/pseuds/Cadence7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why would Howe do this? He was our ally, our friend.</p>
<p>An alternate take on the human noble origin story. Covering Highever to Redcliffe. (AKA - How Eoin managed to survive a massacre)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

He was dressed and armored in a daze, only vaguely aware that his mother was talking, he could sense the hands of her guards fastening straps and pulling cords tight but couldn't properly feel them. It wasn't until one of them handed Eoin his sword, forced his fingers into gripping it, that he came out of the folds of his mind. His eyes tore away from Aengus – still naked and in bed – and away from the pool of crimson seeping through silk sheets into a down mattress. Shifting his gaze dispelled his shock. He could hear screams of the dying and the terrified as they echoed through the castle, the clang of steel meeting steel, the unique rally cries of men going to war.

All of this served to focus Eoin, keeping him – if only barely – from falling into another catatonic state. The horror of what was happening in his home was still a far away thing, not nearly as real as the body cooling on his bed. Bile rose in his throat and he tore his eyes away again, trying to brace himself against the void threatening to swallow him whole. He found his mother, who was staring at the man Eoin had killed minutes earlier. His blood ran cold as he recognized the bear etched into the man's breastplate.

“These are Howe's men.” He ground out, jaw tightly clenched.

“Your father stayed up with him.” Eleanor stated it in a fine impression of calm, but Eoin knew his mother. She was anything but calm right now. His heart jumped and his eyes snapped to his mother when the words hit home. _His father was with Arl Howe and Howe's men were attacking._

It was suddenly all too much. He could barely breathe, let alone think, past the screams, the smell of blood and smoke, the body on his bed, his father likely – _No. Do not think it_. Eoin locked down all of those swirling, depressing thoughts and pushed them away, falling back to his training. _'A commander cannot afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. Logic must take priority.'_

“We have to make sure Oren and Oriana are safe first. Pig, on point. You two-” He gave a quick nod to his mother's two guards. “-on my flank. Mother, cover us from afar. I don't want you in the melee.” Orders given, he marched out, sword at the ready and emotions safely locked where they couldn't influence his command.

They only just exited the foyer for Eoin's room when another group of Howe's men fell upon them. It was a painfully easy fight, the hollowness in Eoin's heart preventing him from seeing these men as anything more than hindrances. Mere soldiers had no chance against a fighter like Eoin, who'd had the finest trainers since being big enough to hold a sword, who couldn't see his foes as people, whose sense of mercy was lying in a pool of blood atop a plush mattress.

The next group of soldiers were cut down with much the same efficiency, Eoin focused on the battle, being sure to keep wounds to a minimum. It wasn't until the final opponent fell that anyone truly realized just _where_ they were fighting. Something in Eoin's chest tightened painfully, strong enough that he could feel it even through the barrier separating him from his emotional turmoil.

_Fergus' room._ Somehow, he was the first to reach the door which was hanging limply from a single hinge. He stopped in just inside the doorway, staring at the scene before him without really seeing until the tight feeling in his chest snapped and left him all too aware of Oriana's limp body, lying a few feet away from Oren's small form, still tucked in the far corner and entirely too small.

Eoin's awareness narrowed down to the terror frozen on Oren's face, to the dullness of his nephew's eyes, to the pool of blood the child was sitting in. Dimly, he remembered Fergus' promise to Oren: _“You'll get to see a sword up real close, I promise.”_ The ice in his veins encased his heart and once again he was cut off from everything. He was deaf to his mother's sobs, blind to her tears, numb to the armor-clad hand on his shoulder. It wasn't until one of his mother's guards – a man who had served at the castle nearly all of Eoin's life and had always been willing to spar with him – tugged Eoin away from the room that he was aware of his body again. Yet he still felt disconnected, as though none of this was really happening to him.

The ice remained heavy and impenetrable around his heart and the longer it remained, the more convinced he became that none of this was really happening; the more readily he believed this was the Fade and thus not real. He was no mage and knew little more about the Fade than the most folk, but it made sense to him. This thought that this was no more than a nightmare crystallized into certainty. He began thinking of ways out of this dream, as he couldn't seem to jolt himself awake of his own freewill. Perhaps if he kept killing the “enemies” in this nightmare, he'd come up against the demon responsible. Kill the demon and the dream ends. With the demon dead, he could have Aengus rub his back and soothe away the terrible memory of Oren's little body covered in unforgivable crimson.

It wasn't until a maul connected with his shoulder that his belief was shattered in a violent explosion of blinding pain accompanied by a wet _pop._ His arm immediately went numb in the wake of the agony coursing through his shoulder and collar. The sword that he'd been using for _years_ clattered to the ground after falling from his suddenly limp grip. Moment's after _it_ connected with the stone floor, _he_ connected, the force of the blow and the pain both forcing him to his knees.

An arrow sprouted from the neck of his attacker, seconds before the man could finish Eoin off, but it mattered little. Because now Eoin was all too aware of how _real_ this was. His ancestral home was under attack in a coup led by one of his father's closest friends. His lover had died in his bed. His nephew was dead. His sister-in-law was dead. His father was nowhere to be seen. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though not seeing what was happening would make it all stop.

“Eoin!” The sound of a familiar, if distressed, voice broke him out of the child-like state of terror he'd fallen in. It took him a moment to force his eyes open and longer still to recognize Ser Roland Gilmore, his closest friend, hovering over him.

“Shoulder.” Without really thinking about it, he brought his hand up to touch and immediately regretted it, cutting off a whimper by biting his tongue as his vision went white.

“It's definitely dislocated. I can tell that much now. How's the arm?” It wasn't until Gilmore pointed it out that Eoin realized a crossbow bolt was buried in his bicep. Without really knowing why, he laughed.

“Can't feel it.” Gilmore sucked in a breath and then nodded.

“Going to get the shoulder back in place. You! Get something to make a sling for Eoin!” More orders were barked out, but the pain radiating through his body was beginning to bring that disconnected feeling back. Eoin welcomed it. The emptiness was easier. He didn't want to deal with what was happening. Not when what was happening _hurt_ so much.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why would Howe do this? He was our ally, our_ _**friend.** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Will hopefully be updated every other Thursday. Feel free to drop by my tumblr! I'm [lymonster7](lymonster7.tumblr.com) over there. As always, let me know about typos and such. I miss a lot of them. Thank you for reading ^u^


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